Culture Shock
by Abby Ebon
Summary: In 1998, in the wake of the death of the Dark Lord; the Dursley family went public about magic in a big way. Years later, Harry Potter finds himself among the Volturi face-to-face with the puzzle that is Edward Cullen.


**Culture Shock**

_Abby Ebon_

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_Disclaimer: _I do not own anything, and really I don't care to – I enjoy it as-is. This is merely my playing Pied Piper.

Note: _Say, do you recall…?_

_Harry/Edward_ (Yes, I know it's been done to death and a hand basket to hell, but, still, there is my idea of a stubborn Harry chasing after a brooding Edward, kind of sweet that Harry wouldn't want Edward to die when he's still mooning after Bella and leaving her; Harry could give him something to be _interested_ in; in the meanwhile, Bella later 'finds out' about Harry who was there for Edward all along – in the very dark and vengeance-bitch part of me, I mock her with a cold sniff and a "Ha, _that's_ what you get for crawling all over Jacob!" –_hiss_-…admittedly it is a very small part of me, while at a whole I am bemused (i.e. confused) by the whole prospect of a _cheating_ Edward…)

_This is probably what happened when I left this little ramble all to its little lonesome self. Bad spawning Twilight/Harry Potter stories, bad! _

In any case, that idea is at the heart of this story – even if it doesn't seem like it at first.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_The World Watches_

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1998 (Harry Potter's Seventh Year)

_4 Privet Drive__ in Little Whinging, Surrey._

"This is Virginia Kross, with me here today, is Mr. Vernon Dursley of Little Whinging." Began the reporter in a long-suffering tone that told better then her cold eyes that she had been doing the job a long time, it had obviously lost its luster for her, if it had ever had any appeal to start with.

Her hair was done up in a braided knot, and it was pale – not blond, as if it too had lost it's interest in color as she had so obviously lost association with her job. From the angel it was obvious she sat inside with the family, clustered together in a cozy living room, the father and mother on each side of the son. The only way to tell she was not, after all, family was that she sat in a little chair all her own across from them. On the mantle behind her were pictures of the boy growing in width over years, rather then height. Mr. Dursley gave a jerk of his head to the camera, as if he could acknowledge all the people who would be watching the news in that single motion.

"Mr. Dursley, I must say it is very unusual for us to follow up on calls of the nature you've presented us with. Until this Tuesday, you were a successful business man, why don't you tell us what happened that led up to your loss of income and the choice to put yourself forward – risking your reputation?" Virginia asked, in curious monotone while flicking her eyes over the inside of the room, settling on the family as if a weight and warning to open their eyes to what they might lose. Vernon Dursley didn't hesitate to speak, paying no heed to the silent warning in her eyes.

"I, like so many others, have suffered from the economy. We can no longer afford silence. It's time for the truth to come out, there are _freaks_ out there. _Real freaks_, people who can do things no normal or respectable person could – or would! Who knows how long they have been living along side us, even among us – _using us_ to survive comfortably? It isn't right that we pretend not to see, that we don't talk about it, or do something – simply because they don't want us to. It's time for the truth!" He leaned forward, an intent expression on his reddening face; the fever in his eyes captured the listener's attention, telling with body language alone that he meant every word. Something in his display or words was captivating; few could turn away from such a display.

"And what, Mr. Dursley, is the truth?" Virginia asked, tilting her head to the side as if in curiosity though her eyebrows raised and surprise – and interest – stirred within. That she doubted him was clear, but she was listening – so would the rest of the world. Vernon Dursley took quick comfort in that.

"The truth? You want _the truth_? It's this, my wife and my son and I are all good, decent folk, when my boy was still a toddler, we took in another baby. Family, my wife's last living family, you understand? They _left him_ on our doorstep – out on a cold night, his mother and father had been just like _them_ – freaks with powers, but they were murdered that night. And with no one else wanting the baby, they abandoned him to us; they didn't want him while he wasn't old enough to be one of them, born to it though he was. We tried to raise the boy right, who wouldn't? Then, one day, when he turned eleven – they took him, kidnapped him right in front of us – we'd tried to get away with him, but we couldn't, and now? Now they are teaching him _their_ ways. We only get to see him every summer, and every summer he comes back stranger – worse off." Mr. Dursley pounded a meaty fist against the arm of the couch in frustration. His mustache made his glowering frown all the more fierce, demanding attention like a mad dog.

"What sort of _powers_ would these 'freaks' have?" She asked doubtfully trying to trip him up, make a fool of him as her boss secretly wanted every interview to go. Virginia was good at making fools of folk. It was what she was really paid for, now she hesitated, for he smiled savagely as if he guessed, and wouldn't be caught.

"A lot of people would call it _magic_, Miss Kross. It isn't slight of hand and tricks, its real stuff, dark stuff. It killed the boy's parents." Mr. Dursley spat the words out, as if they were dirty. At the same time he gave a sense of honest regret that such things as magic existed in the world, and wouldn't – if he had the power to do something about it.

"And they, these ...people with magical powers, you say they look like us?" Something about Mr. Dursley's manner pierced though the veil of aloofness that Virginia Kross wore without a thought. It was then that Mrs. Dursley, thin and tall with a horse-long face, coughed softly and looked to the camera confidently.

"Just like, so long as you don't look _too close_, they start to develop their…powers…in their early teens, and then letters come for the children to attend a school of magic, filled, we can only imagine, with others of _their kind_." Mrs. Dursley pressed her lips firmly together, a pale line, and Mr. Dursley patted her thin bony hand with his meaty one.

"I understand the boy; he is related to your side of the family Mrs. Petunia Dursley?" Virginia asked, truly sounding interested as she crossed her legs. Mrs. Dursley nods sharply, as if pained at the reminder.

"Yes, he's my sister's only boy. My sister, Lily, she was the _only one_ in the family to develop powers. It happens like that sometimes, they call those children 'muggle born', or 'mud blood'…they call us, of course, muggles. It isn't a nice term, among them." Mrs. Dursley's horse like face sneers, as if she is holding back a few insults of her own. Her frustration is sympatric to her husband's single-minded intensity.

"And what is the name of the boy you took in?" Virginia asks as looks up from her pen and pad, notes taken over the length of the interview reflected there, where only she can see. Quickening blue eyes peer from behind pale hair, demanding truth.

"Harry Potter." Mr. Dursley smiles bravely, or grimaces – as he says the name of the Boy Who Lived.

Suddenly, there comes a loud rapping on the window. An owl on the ledge taps its beak urgently against the glass, as if blind to the fact that it's daylight and dusk is hours away yet.

"_Mum_!" Dudley Dursley hisses urgently, but Mr. Dursley only smiles all the more, smug now.

"Go open it." Mr. Dursley says, with a wave of his hand, uncaring as if this sort of thing might very well happen regularly. Such heedlessness can not be faked, and Virginia narrows her eyes in interest as she watches as the lump of a son, Dudley goes and does as his father commands.

Approaching cautiously, his hesitation and fear could be mistaken for awe. Dudley lets the window open, and the bird glides silently in. In contrast, a brilliant red letter falls onto the off-white floor, before anyone can touch it, it rips apart and a screaming woman's voice fills the room.

"_HOW DARE YOU_! SUCH NASTY LIES, YOU WAIT DURSLEY – YOU JUST WAIT! _THE BOY WHO LIVED_ WOULD BE WELCOMED INTO ANY MAGICAL FAMILY IN THE WORLD, BUT WHAT ARE THE TIES OF BLOOD TO THE LIKES OF YOU!" Wind whips through the room, ruffling the owl's feathers and the hair of every person within is caught within it as it breezes _out_ the window.

In the silence that follows, another owl had arrived, sitting patiently just inside the window sill. Beyond it is another, and another and another. A whole yard filled with nocturnal owls is too much for any _muggle_ to dismiss.

All have angry red letters tied to them. A snap like a knuckle cracking echoed in the eerie silence before the storm. A robed man with his wand out had appeared out of no-where, and the cameras sparked out as the world watched – and on radios, listeners of _Potterwatch_ heard.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_Note_: In _Harry Potter in the Deathly Hollows_, it became apparent that Lord Voldemort took over the Ministry of Magic when the Wizarding Wireless Network (or WWN) stopped reporting murders and disappearances; in its wake, _Potterwatch_ was born. You had to say a password and tap the wireless radio to hear the broadcast, but the hosts were members of the DA (Dumbledore's Army) and the Order of the Phoenix.

Notably:

Lee Jordon (River)

Kingsley Shacklebolt (Royal)

Remus Lupin (Romulus)

Fred Weasley (Rodent/ Rapier)…

To find out what happens next, on the flip side of the Magical World's view, the password is '_Dire News Indeed_'.

*'_Dire News Indeed_' is the next chapter, yes, this is me being cute. (Is it working?)


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